


Clipped Nightingale, Rising Dragon

by Ragnar_the_Red



Series: Heir to the Empire [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Karliah hates the cold, Multi, Pre-Skyrim Main Quest, karliah has no time for bs, skyrim has a realistic currency, skyrim isn't tiny, the dragonborn already know he's a dragonborn, the dragonborn is a prince
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragnar_the_Red/pseuds/Ragnar_the_Red
Summary: Karliah is in the process of scraping together enough money to exact her vengeance on Mercer, when Ellig coerces her into joining him on a personal expedition to the most dangerous tombs in Skyrim. Both are slow to trust each other, but in the face of incredible peril, they realize they have little choice. (Part of the Heir to the Empire universe.)
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn & Karliah
Series: Heir to the Empire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783615
Kudos: 2





	Clipped Nightingale, Rising Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, AO3 readers. I'm Ragnar the Red. This is a story I have already posted on FanFiction.net, and I decided to post it here too. It's part of a greater universe I plan to write, which also contains a one-shot with some backstory for my Dragonborn. I'll be uploading it soon, just have to spend a lot of time formatting it because FanFiction doesn't allow for imports. Hope you enjoy the story!

_Whiterun, 193 4E, 12th of Frostfall_

The thief scanned the well-lit room from her darker corner. The Bannered Mare was bustling at this time of the week and night, full of townsfolk, off-duty guards, and mercenaries. Even the Jarl was present, carousing with some of the Companions. In an hour, they would all be deeply drunk. But they would also be shorter on money.

Earlier in her career, she would have taken the risk, and cut purses while they were still overflowing. But luck was no longer on her side, and neither were her compatriots. No one to bribe the guards to let her out of jail, no one to even slip her a lockpick. She resolved to be cautious, as she had been for the last seventeen years.

She paid her attention to the Jarl’s table. He was seated with four other Nords; two black-haired warriors that looked to be twins, a red-headed woman with predatory eyes, and a man with dirty blonde hair and green eyes. The blonde Nord had the attention of the table, clearly telling some war story. A distinctly Nordic tradition.

Once he finished his tale, he gestured to the barmaid to bring him a bottle. The girl returned with a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve. The boaster poured a cup of the expensive mead for the Jarl and the others, and they toasted him loud enough for the thief to hear from across the room. “To the Wolf!” they cheered, clanking their cups together. After they drained their drinks, the “Wolf” stood up from his chair, staggering a bit. He said some words of parting to the Jarl and his companions, and stumbled out the door.

The thief counted to ten in her mind, then got up to follow him. The cold air greeted her with hostility. It was not yet winter, but that hardly mattered in Skyrim. Most of the province was only warm for three months; Riften and Falkreath were the only ones with temperate climates.

The streets were empty, which made things more difficult. She couldn’t casually bump into him and play it off as the normal bustle of a crowd. It would have to be quick, so she could be gone before the mercenary noticed his purse was missing.

The thief made her move, sprinting towards the Nord. His purse dangled from his belt, barely secured. _Drunk *and* stupid. Perhaps luck is on my side after all._ When the distance was nearly closed, she shouted “Out of the way! Messenger coming through!” She bumped into the man hard, and snagged the purse in a viper-quick motion. She continued sprinting towards the Cloud District, and the Nord yelled after her. “The Jarl is in the tavern!” _By Azura, how did these dull as ash Nords ever build all those ridiculous complex traps in their tombs?_

The thief reached the top of the district, but stopped right before the bridge leading to Dragonsreach, the Jarl’s palace. The guards were unobservant, and did not spot her. She stealthily doubled back, clinging to the shadows. She made certain no one was following her.

The thief made her way to the small home she had purchased in the Plains District. Its modest appearance made it a good hideout. The door lock was poor; a tougher lock would make another thief more determined to break in. Even still, she marked the frame with the “empty” shadowmark; with luck, it had not yet been changed. Unlocking the door, she stepped inside and shut it behind her.

She threw the coin purse onto the small dining table, and pulled down the hood that had been concealing her features. The last seventeen years had been like this for Karliah. Slowly earning or stealing money, one night at a time. Setbacks were common; bad nights when she found no marks. Worse nights when she had to flee the local hold and lay low, be it from the guards or Mercer’s agents. Some days she ate little, so that she could save that extra bit of money. It would be many more years before her plan could be put into fruition, but that was fine. She had hundreds to spare. _But I’ll not let old age be the one to do Mercer in._

Karliah approached the coin purse, and undid the knot. She then emptied the contents onto the table. A second of examination had her recoil in shock. The coins were not golden septims, but rusted iron scales taken from a cuirass. It was a trap. Karliah drew her dagger, and whirled around.

An imposing, shadowy figure faced her, and she moved to strike. The figure shouted something incomprehensible. Faster than she could even hope to react, the figure grabbed her wrist tightly, forcing her to drop the dagger onto the floor. Kicking away the dagger, the figure released her wrist and stepped forward into the light.

It was the Wolf. His face was pale, and eyes totally alert. His drunkenness had been feigned. “You wanted me to rob you. Why?” Karliah asked of the Nord. He smirked ever so slightly. Close up, she noticed a few scars on his face. One above his left eye, faded claw marks on his cheek, and strange mark on his jaw, perhaps from a hammer.

“I have a proposition for you. I am in need of a thief. Not just any thief; a damn good one. And one that can handle themselves in a scrap.” Without looking, he gestured to the carpet that concealed her bow and Gallus’ sword. “Obviously those aren’t for show, and they are hidden like the rest of your loot.”

Karliah crossed her arms. “How do you know I’m a good thief? You made stealing your purse easier than stealing eggs from a rock warbler's nest.”

“That wasn’t the test,” the Wolf responded. “You have acquired some impressive hauls of loot these past few months, haven’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to confirm. “A jewel-laden chest in a barrow full of traps and angry Draugr, a sack of filled soul gems from a warlock’s tower, and a bandit warlord’s enchanted sword.” “All of these heists, you learned of from tips. Tips that I planted. Tavern owners, drunk adventurers who bit off more than they could chew, warnings posted by the Jarl’s men. All paid by me to get the attention of a thief. Not a common cutpurse or burglar, but a true professional.”

“Get to the point,” Karliah said sharply. “What do you need my help for? You’re obviously stealthy yourself. Why do you need a ‘professional’?”

“It’s true, I can be sneaky on occasion. But it’s easy to conceal one’s self in the dark, when you don’t have to move. Wouldn’t you agree?” She nodded slightly, and impatiently gestured for him to get on with it. “Very well. I need your help in order to acquire seven artifacts from the era of the Dragon Cult. Plenty of locked doors, many of which have locks I cannot open myself. I keep the artifacts, you keep whatever other treasure we happen to find.”

“I can’t possibly agree to that, without knowing what the artifacts are worth. How much are you getting paid? And if I find out you’re lying…” “I am being paid nothing. My employer is myself. Their material value means nothing to me. You could say I’m a scholar. The Dragon Cult and the subjects of their worship are of great interest to me.”

Karliah was skeptical, but a good thief understood that appearances were often deceiving. The Nord was cleverer than she had initially given him credit for. And Gallus didn’t seem the scholarly type at first either. “What if I say no to this offer? You already knew where I stayed at night, because you didn’t follow me. You had another purpose for baiting me into stealing your fake coin purse.”

The Wolf smiled. “Very observant of you. It’s a bit of leverage for me. If you say no, guards are waiting outside to take you away for stealing my purse. Your little haven here will be searched extensively, and they will find the other stolen goods you have hidden away. They will then confiscate this home with no reimbursement, and they will throw you in a cell. Where you will stay for the next ten years or so, unless you agree to my terms.”

He continued. “While you could just choose to abandon me later, you won’t. The guards will be holding your loot until our little quest is completed. If you leave before then, or if I die before then, your home and your treasure is lost to you.”

Karliah thought for a moment. “These guards, are they trustworthy? They will not help themselves to my treasure, or reveal my person?”

“I swear on my honor they will not. Balgruuf’s men are unquestioningly loyal to him, and he and I have been friends for over a decade. If anything is missing, I will compensate you personally.” The Wolf produced a contract, written on parchment. “This is a formal agreement to the terms we just discussed. It has the Jarl’s stamp. Merely sign your name at bottom. If you are not literate…”

“I am,” Karliah interrupted. “You’ll not object to me reading it over, will you?” The Wolf shook his head. “Good.” She sat down at the table, and drew a candle closer to the parchment. The contents of the contract were as the Wolf said they were. She spent half an hour closely examining the words, but could not find any ambiguous statements or loopholes. Karliah signed the bottom with a “K”.

“You’re a secretive one,” the Wolf remarked. “Though I suppose I haven’t given you my name. You may call me Kulaan. What shall I call you? I refuse to refer to you as a letter."

“I don’t care.” The Nord’s insistence on familiarity annoyed her. He had essentially forced her into this contract. Karliah was never cordial, and was friendly only to one other person that was still alive.

“Fine. I will call you… hmmm… Brii. The brevity suits you. As does its meaning.” Kulaan collected the contract from the table. “Sleep well, Brii. We depart two hours after dawn tomorrow.”

The Nord departed, and Karliah sighed deeply. _Traipsing around the most dangerous ruins in Skyrim, when Lady Nocturnal no longer favors me_. “This is a death sentence.” _I could leave in the middle of the night. Take what I can carry, and make a run for it._

But if she did, Whiterun would become almost impossible to operate in. Balgruuf’s integrity meant the Guild, weakened as it was, had no power there. The city was rich, with plenty of merchants and nobles to pilfer from. Losing access to the hill city would be devastating. Markarth was too bloody, and the guards who were not on the Silver-Blood’s payroll were certainly on Mercer’s. Windhelm did not take kindly to Dunmer like her, leaving just Solitude. And when it got too hot there, where could she go? _I have no choice but to go on this fool’s endeavor._

Karliah hoped Kulaan’s nom de guerre was well-earned. Pure skill was the only thing that could protect them.

_The next morning_

Ellig finished loading the last pack of supplies on his grey stallion, Hallsteinn. Two week’s worth of food, copious salt to preserve game meat, and wine, ale, and water as well. The food he packed would only be eaten when they could not hunt. He brought his Nordic longbow, plus eighty Nordic arrows. A hatchet for cutting wood, a hunting knife to skin game, a pot and pan, a tent big enough for two, and a warm bedroll. Several cloaks of varying weight, since they would be traveling through Eastmarch, Winterhold, and the Pale during the dead of winter. A mini-harp and a pile of books to pass the time.

Most war horses would not do well with the weight, but Skyrim horses were bred for strength and endurance instead of speed. A Cyrodilic courser could easily outrun a Nord desterier over a mile, but on a week long race, the Cyrodil would be dead on the fifth day, while the Nord had not yet been watered twice.

Ellig had bought a second horse for Brii, a mare the stableboy affectionately referred to as Juniper. The name made little sense, as the mare was nearly as big as Hallsteinn, and black as night. The horse had a timid disposition, or at least, timid for a war horse. He had no doubt that Juniper would bite and kick with the best of them when under the stress of battle.

He asked the stable boy to watch the horses, and left to retrieve the Dunmer thief. There was a decent breeze from the west, that blew in cold fresh air to free his sense of smell from the stench of manure.

Ellig hoped the thief’s armor was of good make, being simple leather and all. He eschewed his own heavy plate armor for something more comfortable on such a long journey. He wore a well-crafted black aketon with dark leather sleeves under an ebony cuirass. Leather vambraces plated with ebonsteel protected his hands and forearms. His boots were dark leather, and his legs were clothed by padded leather chausses. Though he went lighter on the rest of his armor, Ellig refused to compromise on head protection.

Attached to his back using a strap was a houndskull bascinet, made special for him by Eorlund Grey-Mane. The master armorer had put his artistic flair to use, designing it in the shape of a wolf’s head. When closed, the helmet possessed a toothy snarl. The helmet was also painted crimson, to match the colors of Solitude. Eorlund had made him a whole set of armor in the same style, but the rest of it was back in Solitude.

Ellig re-entered the city, and gave Adrianne Avenicci a nod as he passed by her shop. The daughter of the steward had taken up weapon and armor smithing relatively recently, but she was a natural. No one could ever hope to match Eorlund’s skill, but her wares were far more affordable, making her popular among the common citizenry and mercenaries.

He reached Brii’s home, and rapped on the door three times. A few moments later, the door opened. The elf had her hood up, and stood in his shadow, backing up to allow him in. “Hate the sun that much?” Ellig asked in jest. She narrowed her violet eyes at him, and walked away to where her luggage sat on the floor. Her bow was slung by its string onto her torso, and her arming sword sat in a scabbard on her belt. They were both of a unique design, one unlike any other he had seen before.

Brii did not have much baggage. No tent, so they would have to share. She brought her own bedroll at least, but only one cloak, which he already knew wasn’t going to be heavy enough for the blizzards they would eventually face. She had some food, but was only a few day’s worth of apples, bread, cheese, and a bottle of cheap wine. _Her whole pantry, I imagine_. There was one other sack, filled to the brim with arrows and daggers. Ellig reached to pick it up, but Brii smacked his hand away.

“Take the food and the bedroll,” she said with a glimmer of irritation. Her voice was quiet and soft, and her inflections were just as subtle. The best description he could think of for her voice was “spider-like”. He couldn’t help but raise his hands and chuckle.

“As you wish.” He grabbed the luggage, and the two walked out of the house, towards the gate. Their stroll to the stable was silent. Ellig was unused to silence when he was with another person. He supposed it was a product of culture; Nords were always socializing in some way. But he would at least expect some curiosity on her part. But Brii was mum, excepting when she greeted Juniper with a few soft words and stroked the mare’s mane.

They were a mile into their journey before Ellig couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Have you no questions on where we are going, or what we will face when we get there, or what the artifacts look like?” He had to strain his ears to hear her response.

“We are going to a dusty old tomb, fighting a few Draugr and some locked doors, and the artifacts are old embalming tools made out of frozen troll urine.”

Ellig grunted in offense. “I shall give you clarity then. We are not going to a dusty old tomb yet, we are going to Shearpoint Mountain. We will face a Dragon Priest, kill him, and take the artifact from him, which is a mask.”

“A Dragon Priest?” Brii asked in confusion. “I have never heard of that before.”

“I’m not surprised. There were never many of them to begin with. They were the highest-ranking members of the Dragon Cult. All of them were powerful sorcerers, and the ones we’re going after are the strongest.”

“How did you ever learn about them? If they have so much treasure and interesting artifacts, it seems strange that they would still be untouched.”

“I learned of most of their approximate locations from the College of Winterhold’s library, where I studied for some time. The College has sent expeditions to some of the locations, but they were either killed or ran for their lives before ever reaching the priests. The current Archmage has banned further missions to known Dragon Priest tombs.”

Ellig continued. “Local Nords know better than to disturb the ancient tombs, as do most experienced adventurers and mercenaries. Hard to spend treasure when you’ve been pulled apart by lightning, incinerated, or frozen to death.”

“What exactly makes you confident that we’ll survive? I’m not exactly equipped to fight some of the most powerful mages to walk the earth.” “I’ve fought one before, and won. Mages aren’t dangerous if you can box them in a corner. Keep your distance, and use your bow. My armor is enchanted against magic, I can take the punishment.”

The Dunmer made a displeased sigh. “Good, you’re suicidal, like nearly every damn Nord. Do you remember that your life is at least very valuable to me?”

“Oh Brii, but we’ve only just met!” he replied sarcastically. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m capable of. If I was an arrogant fool, I wouldn’t have brought help.”

They rode northeast for the rest of the day, eventually having to abandon the road. They were followed by a pair of sabrecats, but Brii proved to be an excellent shot, even from horseback.

When dusk approached, they had reached the foot of the mountain, which was covered in pine and spruce trees. “We’ll find a place to camp,” Ellig informed his companion. “There,” he said, pointing to a clearing, which had a few perfect sitting stumps as a result of local logging. “I’ll pitch the tent, you gather some firewood.”

They hitched the horses to a large pine, and set out to perform their tasks. The sky started to bring down a light snow, supplementing the frost on the shaded ground. It wouldn’t be enough to interfere with the fire. Ellig unfurled the heavy fur tent, and laid down the support beams. The ground was hard from the cold, but he managed to plant the supports firmly. He then secured the ends of the tent with errant rocks and rotting branches.

Brii had already set up a firepit in the meantime, and was attempting to lit the kindling with flint. But with the snow, it would be slow going. The elf was shivering, having not yet put on her cloak. “Step back,” he told her. Brii gave him an annoyed look, but backed off from the pit. Ellig raised his hands, and cast a short stream of flame. The kindling took to light instantly, and the bigger pieces soon followed.

They separately prepared their own suppers. Brii ate a small wedge of cheese, with some bread and wine. Ellig ate fiskeboller, made from salmon, out of a jar. He could see the Dunmer stare at him in disgust, and turn so she couldn’t see him while she ate.

Finishing his meal, he retrieved his sack of books, and poured a mug of ale. The fire did not provide sufficient light, so he cast a Candlelight spell. Satisfied, Ellig delved into Words and Philosophy, an interview of a Bosmer who had been head of the Imperial Guard, and who was also a legendary swordmaster. The book was a gift from Vilkas, who said that it helped become more open-minded in his use of his greatsword.

Though the text was deeply intriguing, Ellig was not so entranced that he didn’t notice Brii’s boredom. The thief was focused on the fire, idly tending to it. He noticed that she had finally put on her cloak. He dug into his sack of books, pulling out The Rear Guard. “Here,” he called out to the elf, tossing the book underhand. She caught it, and raised an eyebrow at him. “It is enlightening on the use of light armor,” Ellig informed her. “Even if it isn’t, it’s a shade more interesting than staring at a small fire.”

Brii cast a Candlelight spell of her own, and opened the book. They read in silence until the fire died out. Brii was first to bed, retrieving her bed roll from Juniper.

Ellig examined the surrounding forest, and whispered; “ _Laas yah nir_ ”. Aura Whisper found nothing bigger than owls and rabbits for a considerable distance around the campsite. Predators were not a concern; his Kyne’s Peace was strong enough to pacify any animal. They had camped close to the border of Eastmarch; bandits liked to wander in the border regions of Skyrim. The hold guards would only chase them to the border, so it made escape easier. The bandits would raid and rob in one hold, then cross into another. This process would go on for a month or two, until the two holds became irritated enough to coordinate their efforts. At the point, the bandits were either killed, or they got wise and fled to another part of Skyrim in anticipation.

If a group saw their campsite, they would likely attempt to steal the horses. Ellig couldn’t speak for Juniper, but he knew Hallstein would winnie, kick, bite, and raise all sorts of racket if a pack of foul-smelling brigands came close to him.

Ellig went directly to the tent, having already prepared his bedroll. He removed his boots, gloves, and cuirass before settling in. Saddle-sore, he quickly fell asleep.

_Dawn_

Karliah woke up before her 'employer'. The big Nord was a surprisingly quiet sleeper. Quiet sleepers were often light sleepers, so she took care getting out of her bedroll. She found herself craving a rabbit for breakfast, so she threw her cloak over her leather armor, and picked up her bow and a satchel of steel arrows. She left Gallus’ sword, taking just a dagger instead. The bigger blade was uncomfortable to crouch-walk with when it was strapped to her waist, and her hands would be preoccupied with her bow.

Karliah exited the tent, to see the sun had just begun its rise. The sky was clear of clouds, promising a warmer day. _As warm as a day spent on a Skyrim mountain in Frostfall can be_ , she thought to herself. Nocking an arrow on her bowstring, the thief advanced into the forest quietly.

It was perhaps half an hour before she came upon a likely target. A good-sized mountain hare sniffing close to the ground, pushing aside fallen leaves to access the grass underneath. Fifty yards, minimal wind. Easy shot. She drew the bowstring, holding her breath. A second later, the arrow was loose, and it found its target.

The hare screamed as it was skewered by the steel tip, and collapsed. The animal was dead by the time Karliah reached it. _Easily ten pounds,_ she figured, admiring the size of her kill. She pulled out the arrow and returned it to the satchel, and then picked up the hare.

She started walking back to the campsite at a brisk pace, knowing nearby predators might come to investigate the death scream of the hare. She kept her eyes open, and made sure to look over her shoulder often. All of a sudden, she heard a blood curdling roar, followed by screaming. People screaming.

Karliah ducked behind a tree, dropped the hare, and nocked another arrow. She poked out her head past the tree, and saw a small group of four warriors, running in her general direction. Their shaggy appearance and armament made her suspect they were bandits. They didn’t see her, and they turned their heads in the direction of where they had been running from. They prepared to fight.

Two were Imperials, armed with a shield and an axe or mace, and the other two were an Argonian archer and a Khajit mage. Karliah could not see their foe at first, but quickly realized what it was when she heard the roar again. _Frost troll_. She cursed. The bandits and the troll were in her way; she could not reach the camp without being noticed.

The troll attacked the ragtag group. The mage cast flames at the troll, but got too close. The beast charged the Khajit, swinging its powerful arms. It landed a blow on her head, crushing the cat’s skull. An arrow from the Argonian struck the troll on the head, but failed to hit one of the eyes, and merely bounced off the tough skin and bone. The two Imperials found their courage, and charged the frost troll.

The one with the mace hit the beast on the chest. The blow hardly seemed to register for the hideous creature, as it grabbed the Imperial’s arm, and ripped it from its socket. The bandit screamed in agony, falling to the ground. His screams were silenced when the troll stepped on his chest, caving it in. Another arrow hit the troll, this time in the neck. It stuck in this time, finding softer flesh. The troll howled in pain.

The axe wielding Imperial saw her opportunity, and started hacking at the troll. The axe found purchase, leaving wounds on the troll’s arms and torso. But the attacks enraged the beast even further. The troll hammered the Imperial in the chest with its fist, slamming the bandit into a tree. The iron cuirass she had been wearing allowed her to survive the blow, but left the Imperial winded.

The white-haired monster grabbed her shoulder in one hand, and her head in another. Karliah couldn’t bear to look, so her ears suffered the horror of hearing a head being ripped from its shoulders.

She looked past the tree once more. The Argonian was the only one left, and he scrambled to shoot his bow at the angry troll. He had kited back to a position only about five yards from her tree. _If the troll gets to him, it will sniff me out for sure_. Karliah took a deep breath, and darted out from behind the tree. She drew the string to her cheek, and let the arrow fly.

The arrow flew true, and landed right in the troll’s left main eye socket. The beast fell to its knees, and sat almost motionless.

Karliah paused, uncertain if the troll was done. The Argonian turned and gave her a nod of thanks, and cautiously approached the monster, steel dagger in hand. He was one step away when the troll exploded back onto its feet. It sent the Argonian flying with a backhanded blow, then turned towards her, furious.

The wounds it had received from the Imperial’s axe were gone. The troll charged, and Karliah had no time to loose another arrow. She dropped her bow and rolled out of the way. She pulled out her glass dagger. _Of course when I need a sword, I’ve left it at camp. How in Oblivion will I be able to survive, let alone kill this thing?_

Her only option was to destroy the troll’s other eye, and make a run back to camp. But that was easier said than done without the ability to use her bow.

A shout rang out from behind the troll, drawing the monster’s attention. It was Kulaan. He was fully armored, wearing his wolf-themed bascinet and brandishing a gleaming longsword. The troll swung its left paw at him, but the Nord slashed it away with his sword.

Electricity crackled around the beast, indicating that the longsword was enchanted. He brought the sword back, cutting at the troll’s stomach. Kulaan spun around the troll as it groaned in pain, and slashed again, slicing the monster’s hamstrings. The troll fell on its knees again. Kulaan delivered the coup de grace with his own dagger, stabbing it into the troll’s remaining big eyes, twisting it around. He pulled the dagger out, and the monster collapsed.

Kulaan sheathed his blades, and cast flames to torch the troll’s corpse. “Damn trolls. Agents of Mauloch, I swear to Kynareth.” He turned around, and noticed the Argonian bandit sprawled on the ground. “Friend of yours?” he asked her. Karliah shook her head.

“No. I was out hare-hunting. On my way back, I saw him and a few of his comrades get attacked by that troll. It killed three, and I feared it might discover me after it killed him. So I intervened.”

Kulaan walked towards the bandit, still speaking to Karliah. “If it was a regular troll, you’d have killed it. Frost trolls are a damn sight tougher, though. Have to kill them quick, otherwise they’ll regenerate from any wound excepting dismembered limbs. Strange to find one at the base of the mountain. Goats must have become scarce higher up.”

The Nord kneeled down next to the Argonian. “You, you’re a highwayman aren’t you?” The bandit swallowed nervously, clearly intimidated by Kulaan’s fearsome helmet. “Not anymore I’m not,” the Argonian replied in a raspy voice. “I’m going back to Riften, no more robbing at knifepoint. I swear Wolf, I’ll give alms every day!”

“That’s good,” Kulaan replied. “I’ll make sure to check in with the priest of Mara, to see if you will have kept your word. Now, hold still. Your ribs are probably broken and cracked. Lucky they didn’t puncture a lung.” The Nord pressed his hands against the Argonian’s chest.

A glow emanated around the bandit, as Kulaan cast Healing Hands. He kept the spell going for a few moments, then pulled his hands away. “You should be fine. No vigorous movement for a week, or whatever the healers say. Stick to the roads, unless you want another one of those horrors attacking you.”

The Argonian stood up. “I will, thank you. Thank you, Wolf.” He looked at Karliah. “And many thanks to you as well. May the Hist watch over and guide you both.”

The bandit left in a hurry, clutching at his torso. Karliah looked at Kulaan, who had removed his helm. “Why help him?” she asked. “You could have more easily left him, or killed him. Men like you hunt bandits.”

“Yes,” he replied, slinging his helmet over his shoulder. “Part of me wanted to simply stab him in the heart. But when we give in to what is wrong, for the sake of expediency or desire, we will eventually destroy ourselves. He might keep his word, or he may not. It doesn’t really matter. I did not save him for his sake, but for my own.”

The Nord ceased discussing the topic, and grunted. “I won’t bore you with my personal ethics and philosophy any longer. Where’d you leave the hare? It’s high time we broke our fast and kept moving.”

They returned to the campsite in short order. Kulaan packed up the camp and fed the horses some apples and carrots, while she skinned and cooked the hare. Karliah decided to keep the pelt; it could be worth collecting pelts to make a proper coat. The hare cooked quickly, and she claimed the haunches for herself. Kulaan did not complain, seemingly glad to have the heart, kidneys, and liver. “Most nutritious parts,” he explained.

He then produced a bottle of ale for them to share. Karliah did not care much for ale or beer, but she knew that it was far more filling than wine. An important fact when faced with the reality of Skyrim’s cold autumns and even more frigid winters. Kulaan took a long swig first, then passed the bottle to her.

She wiped the lip with her sleeve, took a breath, and downed the rest of the ale. The fruity beer lurched up her throat, but she managed to keep it down. A smile of amusement tugged at the Nord’s cheeks.

“You’re the first elf I’ve seen quaff ale like that and not hurl it back immediately. Not counting Orsimer, anyway.” He took the empty bottle. “Should only be a few hours to the peak. Once we finish up there, we’ll travel down the north face, and follow the Yogrim down to Windhelm.”

The two mounted their horses, and proceeded up the mountain. As they neared the peak, the wind began to pick up, bringing more snow with it. Karliah clutched her cloak tightly against herself. _Damn thing is too thin_. Kulaan whistled sharply, and tossed her a cloak of his own.

“I’d rather you not be shivering while we fight a Dragon Priest. I might find an arrow in my neck, without being sure if you meant to put it there.”

“If I ever mean to hit you, you’ll know it in advance,” she quipped back, as she put the cloak on over her own. The Nord chuckled shortly. They made it to Shearpoint within the next hour. The area was devoid of any structures Karliah had expected of a mage-priest’s final resting place.

The only monument was a strange stone wall, rounded like a half-oval. As they stepped in front of the wall, she noticed a sarcophagus lying before it. And upon the wall, there were bizarre etchings, like writing. Kulaan took a few steps closer, and the words began to glow. He immediately stepped back.

“What was that?” Karliah asked him. He did not respond right away, and he drew his sword. Close up, she recognized the steel as Skyforge. She had stolen a dagger from Jorrvaskr for a job, back when she was with the Guild. The Companions were the sole users of the legendary steel. Though Kulaan did seem to be friends with some of them, he had never given any indication that he was a member. And… he doesn’t smell like a dog.

“I can’t explain it. Not now.” The warrior scanned the area, and fixated on a point behind her. “There, those rocks. The wind will be at your back. I’ll approach the sarcophagus from the right, to give you a clear view. When he bursts out, shoot him. Then I will attack him, and push him towards you. While you shoot him in the back, my storm enchantment will rob him of his magicka reserves. When I wave to you, get ready to shoot.”

Karliah took her position on the rocks, finding a divot in which she could plant her feet and maintain balance. Kulaan was fifteen yards to the right of the sarcophagus, sword at the ready. He waved to her, and started creeping towards the stone coffin. The Dunmer nocked an ebony-tipped arrow, and slowly drew the bowstring back. The Nord was a few steps away from the sarcophagus now, but it still hadn’t opened.

Kulaan turned to look at the stone wall, and Karliah noticed the same faint glow she had seen a minute ago. Suddenly, the coffin lid was ejected forcefully.

A withered Draugr emerged from the sarcophagus, floating a foot above the ground. In its right hand was a golden staff. The priest wore a tattered and faded purple robe, armored with gilded steel scales. Over its face was a peculiar looking mask.

Karliah loosed her arrow, and it struck the priest in its unprotected neck. The Draugr growled, and leveled its staff at her. Before it could blast her with a spell, Kulaan delivered a savage blow to the sorcerer’s back. The Dragon Priest reeled forward, and spun around.

Karliah shot another arrow into its back. Kulaan began pressing the Draugr. The undead mage cast a protection spell, and cast a fireball from its staff at the Nord. Kulaan put up a ward, successfully blocking the attack. Karliah shot at the priest again, but it had turned to face her immediately after its attack on Kulaan.

The arrow bounced off of the priest’s mask, and the sorcerer cast a spell with its left hand. An icy whirlwind chased after her, and the elf narrowly avoided the attack by diving from the rocks onto the snow. Her arrows spilled out of her satchel, and she scrambled to plant them in the dirt.

While the priest had been focused on her, Kulaan attacked again with a shout. The Draugr turned to face him, and the Nord cut its staff in two with a neat, horizontal slice. The priest quickly double-cast Ice Storm at Kulaan, and the strong cold wind carried him backward by thirty feet.

“Damn,” Karliah cursed. She shot her bow as fast as she could, praying to Nocturnal all the while. The priest clenched its hands, and started launching Icy Spears at her. She dodged the first with ease, but nearly jumped into the second. A third grazed her pant leg, leaving a chill on her skin. Karliah knew she couldn’t dodge forever, and drew Gallus’ sword.

She charged the priest, who hovered about ten yards away. Ice magic surrounded the sorcerer’s hands, as it prepared to cast Icy Spear again. _Getting killed by a Draugr warlock from an ancient cult isn’t how I envisioned dying._

A shout came from behind the Dragon Priest, followed by a sound like a thunderclap. Kulaan appeared almost out of nowhere, landing next to the priest.

He skewered the sorcerer with his longsword, stabbing it in its unprotected side. The priest screamed a unholy sound that would have made her shiver, if she hadn’t already.

The draugr fell to the ground, trying to summon magic. But lightning coursed around it, sapping its magicka reserves. “Finish him!” Kulaan shouted.

Karliah gripped her sword with two hands, and chopped at the Draugr’s neck. She lacerated the withered flesh, but failed to sever the spinal column. She chopped down again, and this time, the arming sword cut all the way through. The priest’s head plopped onto the ground. Its body disintegrated into ash, leaving just the mask and the armored robe.

Karliah sheathed her sword, and planted her hands on her knees. “How in Oblivion are we alive?” she wondered aloud. The Nord sheathed his own sword, and crouched down to pick up the mask.

“Skill, wit, and a bit of magic. That’s all it ever takes.” He stood up with the artifact in hand, and started walking towards the stone wall. “Come, there’s likely treasure in the sarcophagus.”

“Hold on,” Karliah barked. Kulaan halted, and looked back at her. “You owe me an explanation. The words glowing when you got near them, the strange magic you used… what’s going on? They’re obviously related to this… thing.” She pointed to the ashes of the priest, which had begun to blow away in the wind.

Kulaan sighed. “Fine. Hmm. I was hoping that only I could see the words glowing. I was also hoping I wouldn’t have to use the Thu’um. But there’s no hiding it now, I suppose. I am a student of the Greybeards.”

She cocked her head. “Those monks who live on the Throat of the World? I didn’t know that they met with outsiders, let alone teach them the… Thoom?”

“They only teach a select few in the Thu’um, the Voice. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak is their only other student alive. He was supposed to eventually join their order, but he left to fight in the Great War, and rule Windhelm after his father died.”

“What is the Voice? And are you going to become a Greybeard? You don’t seem to be much of a pacifist.”

“I suggest we mount up before I answer your questions. Allow me a moment to read the word wall, and then we will be on our way.” Kulaan approached the “word wall”, and three words scattered around the text began to glow vigorously. Light flowed from the words into the Nord.

After a few seconds, the light disappeared. Kulaan breathed deeply, with his eyes closed. “Zul Mey Gut,” he whispered. He opened his eyes. “A Shout, but I cannot use it yet. Not until I have meditated on them deeply. Now collect your treasure, and let’s ride.”

**Author's Note:**

> Best to state this now: Skyrim and Tamriel are much bigger in my universe. The cities and towns are more populous and cover more area. Larger rivers, lakes, and forests, you get the gist of it.  
> Windhelm and Solitude- Both have populations of about 30,000  
> Whiterun- 25,000  
> Riften and Markarth- 20,000  
> Dawnstar- 7,000  
>  Falkreath- 5,000  
>  Morthal- 3,000  
>  Skyrim population in total- roughly ten million (9 million are Nords).
> 
> Also, the money system will be different. Septims will be made out of copper, silver, and gold. Their values will be a such; one gold septim= 400 USD, one silver septim= 10 USD, one copper septim= 1 USD.


End file.
